


The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

by tigriswolf



Series: comment_fic drabbles [166]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Gen, M/M, Violence, so fucking sad OMG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," the smirking tribute from District 3 asks, "what'd you do to end up here?" </p><p>[Arthur/Eames, Hunger Games AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Revolution Will Not Be Televised

**Author's Note:**

> Title: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: AU; character death; mentions of violence  
> Pairings: Arthur/Eames  
> Rating: PG13  
> Wordcount: 980  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Author's choice, author's choice, Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

"So," the smirking tribute from District 3 asks, "what'd you do to end up here?" 

Arthur shrugs. "Better me than someone with a family to mourn." 

"No," his companion says, glancing over, eyes flashing in the firelight. "Better no one at all." 

In the morning, one of them will have to die. 

...

The other tribute from District 8 was a little girl named Rosalie. Arthur did what he could for her; her twelfth birthday was only a month before the Reaping. Arthur knows because she cried about in his arms on the train and he held her until she fell asleep. 

Arthur is two months away from nineteen. He’s good with a knife, but better with a gun, and he promised himself, watching the fat judges watch him with unimpressed eyes, that he wouldn’t go down easy. He doesn’t expect to win; no one except the Careers _expect_ to win. But he’ll decide who gets to kill him. 

Rosalie dies first, of course, at the Cornucopia. “Rose,” Arthur had shouted, moving backwards. “C’mon!” He’d looked past her, to a smirking Career, and he’d _known_ \- 

Arthur cursed and turned to run into the woods. That night, he snuck into the Careers’ camp and stuck a knife in the bastard who killed Rosalie’s eye. 

That was the first time he saw the tribute from District 3, smirking. The boy inclined his head and didn’t raise the alarm as Arthur melted back into the night.

…

Arthur has no family. Back home, he’d work and then he’d sleep, having left school when he was fourteen. His mother worked herself to death and he never knew his father; his older sister died in the Games six years ago. She hadn’t even fought to live, just as tired as Arthur is. 

But Arthur’s anger is stronger than his weariness and when he wasn’t sleeping or working, he researched. He knows how every winner in the past thirty years won. He knows wilderness survival, battle tactics, and how to throw a knife. It’s all theoretical, yes, but that’s better than some of the children here.

And they _are_ children. Only one younger than fourteen is left, and Arthur spends three days shadowing her, killing two of the older ones who go after her.

He wonders what the audience thinks. Decides he doesn’t care. He’s giving them a show, after all. The fuckers. 

…

“I can honestly admit,” the boy says, “that I knew this would happen.” 

He’s Arthur’s age, but with a bit more muscle. Arthur hasn’t had enough to eat in years. “That first night,” he continues, “when you brazenly came into our camp.” He laughs. “They were all in tizzy that morning.” 

He’s holding a spear; Arthur’s got a knife. There’s one pack of food left, and them. That’s it for this Game. 

“Let’s share and fight it out in the morning, yeah?” he offers, spear pointed at the ground. 

Arthur nods. The boy smiles, holding out a hand. “I’m Eames.” 

“Arthur,” Arthur says, clasping his hand. 

…

Eames is half a year away from nineteen. He’s got two younger brothers and a mother. He volunteered when his brother's name was called. Like Arthur, he was given a low rating and expected to die early on. 

“Like I’d give them the satisfaction,” he hissed, and Arthur nodded. 

“They want a show,” Arthur murmurs, watching Eames glut himself on the remaining supplies. 

“Oh, yes,” Eames says. “A brutal fight to the death and what-all.” His grin is razor-sharp and cold. “I have a better idea.” He lowers his head, flicks his eyes to the bush a few feet away. 

Arthur smiles. 

They want a show. Entertainment. Twenty-two children have died for it, die every year for it. 

“Will they go after your family?” he asks. 

Eames shrugs. “It’s possible. But they’d understand, I think, and I know that I couldn’t – ” He bites off the words. “I’ve done horrible things in here.” 

There is nothing back home for Arthur. And if the only one he’d allow to kill him doesn’t want to… 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Eames says. 

“Good night,” Arthur whispers. 

They curl up with each other and it’s the best sleep Arthur has gotten since his mother died. 

…

In the morning, Eames plucks the berries from the bush. “Let’s have a treat afore we fight, yeah?” he says brightly. 

Arthur smiles. “Sounds like a wonderful idea,” he adds. 

After all, both of them are from urban districts. What do they know about surviving in the wild? Absolutely nothing. 

“What will you do, if you win?” Eames asks him. 

Arthur drops his berries into his mash, stirring them in. “Take a long, luxurious bath, I think,” he says. “Read for days, until my eyes hurt too much to keep on. You?” 

“I like the thought of a bath,” Eames muses, dropping the berries one by one into his mouth. 

Arthur wonders if anyone has caught on yet. They all have to be watching. Only two left – this is what they’ve all been waiting for. 

“What are your brother's names?” he asks. “My sister was Amalie.” He thinks that might be why he tried to save Rosalie – they even had the same color eyes, the same exact shade of dark chocolate. 

“Eddie, he’s fourteen,” Eames says. “Ethan is only ten.” He smiles, dropping one more berry in his mouth. “If I win, they’ll be safe from this place forever.” 

Arthur’s smile is as bittersweet as the berries flavoring the mash he just finished. “Their children won’t be,” he says. “Or yours.” He starts shuddering; fire is building in his stomach. Tears are leaking out of Eames’ eyes. 

Eames leans over, presses his mouth to Arthur’s. “I’d’ve let you kill me, you know,” he mumbles, as they both go tumbling down. 

Yeah, Arthur knows that. His tongue isn’t working right, or he’d tell Eames so.


End file.
